


Of Darkness

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Animal Friends, Crows, M/M, minor character death (implied), rooftop dates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-22
Updated: 2020-10-22
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:27:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27145208
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: Peter frowns, about to ask for more information, when he's distracted by a rustle of wings.  A crow lands a few feet away with a jaunty bounce, sizing Wade up  sidelong through one eye and then the other.  He expects Wade to shoo it away, protective of his tacos, but when the bird makes a hoarse, rolling, clicking sound in its throat, Wade huffs a laugh as he pulls another pair of tacos from the bag.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 39
Kudos: 302
Collections: Coyo's Halloween Fics





	Of Darkness

**Author's Note:**

> My Generic Spideypool Character Note: I don't honestly care which Wade or Peter you want to imagine for this; I didn't have anyone in particular in mind, other than that I generally ignore everything that happened canon-wise after Winter Soldier, so there's like...literally one thing I ever intend to write with Holland's Spidey specifically, and this is not that fic. (Deadpool Movieverse is A-okay! :D I definitely prefer the movieverse versions of Weasel and Domino to comics canon, heh. And May is probably always going to be ITSV!May, because I adore her.) So yeah, I just tossed everything into a baking dish and made canon casserole, seasoned to (my) taste. Bon appetit!
> 
> Current Fic Notes: Back to my trickery again - today's theme is Crows. (Also, this got its inspiration from a tumblr post going around about the intelligence of crows, and how they recognize people, and how Superman probably has a giant problem with this as Clark Kent, and I turned to Pegunicent and said, "Okay, but you know who else hangs out on rooftops and often has food with him...." And then she put up with me spamming her about it in Steam chat with Very Appropriate Icons. ::katanas:: - ::hotdog:: + ::crow:: / ::spider:: - ::?!?!?::)

Between work, class, and trying to avoid becoming an outright hermit, legitimately free afternoons to patrol are rarer than Peter would like. Which isn't to say New York's criminals get to enjoy a nine-to-five schedule; if he has to be out to see the bars close down, so do they. It just usually means he's sneaking away from something that could get him fired, failed, or dumped.

As it happens, the dumping occurred six months ago, and J.J. fires him on the weekly, but classes are going pretty well. Unnervingly well, actually; he's waiting to find out that his professors have all been paid off by a supervillain to lull him into a false sense of security in preparation for a crushing blow during finals.

Today he's refusing to think about class or MJ's entirely justified--and unfortunately lingering--irritation with him. He's got blue skies above, warm sun on his shoulders, and relatively quiet streets below. He's maybe not getting all that much accomplished, but it's good to remind folks that he's always there, always ready to lend a hand.

He's making a lazy circuit of his usual patrol route when a familiar shade of red on a nearby rooftop diverts his attention. Though he rarely has cause to worry these days--he and Deadpool have an understanding, at least when it comes to New York--he loops back anyway as Wade perks up and waves. It's not like he doesn't have the time, and to be perfectly honest, easy patrols like this one are kind of boring.

"Spidey!" Wade greets him with a huge grin, mask rolled up to his nose and two bulging bags from a nearby Mexican place between his feet. "Fancy seeing you out this early. You playing hooky, or did you finally get a sponsor?"

"Sponsor?" Peter scoffs as he lands, dusting himself off before plopping down on the rooftop's ledge on Wade's left. "I can't even collect royalties on my own merch. What _sponsor_?"

"Well, you know I'm always ready to step up to the plate, sugar," Wade reminds him, bumping Peter's shoulder companionably with his own.

Peter snorts. "Nice try, but I'm not calling you 'daddy.' Ever. For any reason."

"Eh, it's fine," Wade says, reaching into his bags to hand Peter a pair of tacos. "I'd rather be a kept woman anyway."

"Yeah, you're going to have to give me a few years on that one," Peter says as he peels back the first wrapper. "If you think I'm poor now, just wait until I actually have to pay back my loans."

"Mm," Wade hums thoughtfully, taking another bite. Still chewing, from the corner of his mouth he mumbles, "Maybe you should look into that copyright thing after all. Get yourself an agent. A shadow company? Not like a shadowy organization," he adds as he swallows, "though I could get you a good deal on one if you wanted. You know how many of those I get paid to take out in a year? 'S fucking crazy," he grumbles, stuffing the rest of his taco in his mouth.

Peter frowns, about to ask for more information, when he's distracted by a rustle of wings. A crow lands a few feet away with a jaunty bounce, sizing Wade up sidelong through one eye and then the other. He expects Wade to shoo it away, protective of his tacos, but when the bird makes a hoarse, rolling, clicking sound in its throat, Wade huffs a laugh as he pulls another pair of tacos from the bag.

"Yeah, yeah, here's yours," he says, pitching one in the bird's general direction with a gentle, underhand toss. He and the bird unwrap their food together, the crow picking at the greasy paper with practiced skill.

"That can't be good for him," Peter protests, watching the bird chip away bits of shell with evident enjoyment.

"Hey, if he didn't like it, he wouldn't eat it. Loudly," Wade adds with a shrug. "Trust me, you don't ever gotta wonder what a crow thinks about your cooking."

"Still. Just because he _will_ eat it...."

"Yeah, no. Crows are smart! Like, crazy smart. Did you know they make and use tools, and teach other crows how to use them? And they don't just recognize faces; they gossip about us behind our backs--for real, even. You can google it! So if I weren't handing out the good stuff, they'd all get together and, I dunno, shit on my head or run me out into traffic or something. But I'm friend-shaped!" he announces proudly, rocking back as he thumps himself in the chest with a cocked thumb.

Peter catches him automatically before he can overbalance and tip backward, planting a hand between Wade's shoulder blades. The crow lifts its head, studying Peter for a moment with a chunk of ground beef still clutched in its beak before tossing the morsel back and returning to its feast.

" _Sure_ you are," Peter says as Wade rights himself again, but his heart's not really in it. Wade's been a better friend to him than he ever expected, and Peter has as much reason as the local crows to be grateful for Wade's generosity.

"But seriously. Mikey likes it!"

"Please don't tell me you've named the crow Mikey," Peter groans, though he recognizes the old commercial Wade's quoting just fine. With Wade, anything's possible.

"I dunno. He does sort of look like a Mikey...."

"Wade. Give the poor thing some dignity, _please_."

***

Maybe it's just that he's not out all that often during the day, and crows, for all their spooky reputation, are still diurnal birds. He's just never noticed how often they follow Wade until their discussion on the roof.

The thing is, they're _everywhere_. Perched on streetlights, strutting along sidewalks, congregating on rooftops and awnings. They bring their juveniles with them, the young ones begging loudly for food from adults who stare dead-eyed up at Wade as if to ask why they ever thought children were a good idea. Going to Wade is a pretty safe gamble; if he's been stationary long enough to be spotted, he's got food, plain and simple. Even when he's on the move, he's been known to roll up to a food truck if someone looks hungry enough, putting everything else on hold until his order arrives.

Peter's always embarrassed when the one Wade's feeding is him, tries to return the favor as often as he can. New York's crows express their gratitude in other ways.

"Aww, pipe down, guys," Wade calls as Peter swings in for a landing, heralded by a chorus of strident caws. "It's just Spidey! You know Spidey."

The three birds perched on the corner of the roof eye Peter doubtfully but settle when all he does is take his usual seat by Wade's side.

"Doesn't that ever get you in trouble?" Peter asks, eyeing the crows in turn. "Seems like it'd be hard to be stealthy with them yelling like that."

"Yelling," Wade echoes with a grin, tickled by the description. "But nah. I told you crows are smart, right? They know what a gun is, or at least that it's bad news. If I've got one out, they keep quiet. I don't have to use it," he's quick to disclaim, raising both hands as Peter frowns "They just have to see it. And if I switch to the katanas, they can make all the racket they want. It's a great distraction!"

Wade seems to have a handle on it, and Peter can't deny that his feathered entourage comes in handy. When a group--a cell? a sneak?--of ninjas try to surround them one afternoon, the fuss kicked up by half a dozen crows warns them long before they're in any danger.

***

The crows bring Wade little trinkets sometimes, light and easy to carry, often shiny. The pull tabs of soda cans, stray earrings, lost keys. Once a keychain with a flash drive hanging from the ring that Wade handed over the next day, almost crying with laughter. Peter drops off Hammer's plans to hack and repurpose several of SI's medical advances for military use with the Avengers but refuses to take any credit. He does ask for the biggest bag of feed for large birds that JARVIS can have delivered on short notice.

Wade watches with interest as Peter splits the bag open and pours it out in a long line across their favorite rooftop. A handful crows have already flocked to the hot dogs Wade is handing out, and one hops over reluctantly to inspect the offering. A few sunflower seeds and a large kernel of cracked corn are pecked at experimentally, only for the crow to give Peter the most judgmental look he's ever seen on a bird.

Wade hoots, leaning sideways into Peter as he shakes with laughter. Peter just stares. "The Cartoon Network has betrayed me," he mutters, thinking bitterly of all those years of watching animated crows shuck corncobs clean by the bushel.

"They're city crows," Wade reminds him with a grin. "What did you expect?"

Peter doesn't like it, and he cringes as he makes the purchase, but he also doesn't like the way the birds have been _looking_ at him for the last few days.

He brings three whole rotisserie chickens with him the next time he meets up with Wade, and all is forgiven.

***

It's not unusual for Wade to get hurt in a fight. Despite numerous attempts to cure him of the habit, Wade has a tendency to use himself as a human shield, projectile, and battering ram, depending on the situation. Seeing him go cautiously _into_ a fight is so out of character, Peter's nerves are screaming even though his Spidey-sense remains curiously quiet.

The goons they're fighting are nothing special, just the muscle for an upstart circle of drug-runners looking to grow into a real cartel. The warehouse they ran the group to ground in is wide-open, a new acquisition, and though it doesn't provide a lot of cover, it also gives them a lot more room to maneuver without having to worry about civilians and stray bullets.

Peter pushes himself hard, leaping so quickly between wall and roof and floor, gravity becomes less a direction than a focus, and all of his is pointing inward: to the center of the fight, where Wade whips a single blade through glittering arcs. Ducking, jabbing with knees and one elbow, leaping to deliver solid kicks, Wade moves just as fast and fluidly as ever, but he never moves his hand from his left shoulder, just beside his neck. He's probably fine--if he caught a stray knife or bullet, surely the bleeding will have already stopped--but Peter doesn't rest easy until the fight is over, the goons webbed-up or sprawled unconscious in untidy piles.

"Are you okay?" Peter asks as he catches his breath, bent over with his hands braced on his knees. "You didn't get hit, did you?"

"Me? Nah," Wade says, despite the fact that Peter can count at least three new bullet holes in Wade's suit that weren't there when the man answered his text to meet him here. "Nowhere important, anyway."

When he drops the hand that's been shielding his neck at last, he uncovers a chunky black pouf of baby fat and down hunkered on Wade's shoulder. The baby crow blinks sleepily at Peter, untroubled by all the jostling about. When Wade tips his head over to rub his masked cheek against wispy feathers, it just opens its beak wide, peeping like it expects a meal.

"Little guy fell out of the nest, from what I can tell," Wade explains while Peter stares. "Mom yelled at me until I picked him up, but I got your text before I could put him back. Should probably go do that, though--he's getting hungry."

Peter can't. He just can't. He's put up with years of flirting and bad innuendo, watched this dangerous mercenary fight and kill and then fight and die and then finally catch his stride, has watched him save countless people, but it's _this_ : Deadpool in full regalia, armed to the teeth and cuddling a baby bird, that finally does him in.

He is maybe--no, probably--no, definitely in love with Wade Wilson.

The next time Wade asks him out, he says yes.

***

Honestly Peter should have expected things to go wrong for his and Wade's first date. He's never had a single date that _wasn't_ interrupted by a catastrophe, hence MJ's very long-lasting--and, admittedly, still very understandable--irritation with him. He'd just somehow lulled himself into thinking that dating Wade would be different, considering that Wade's the polar opposite of anyone Peter's ever dated before.

First it was the early morning storm that knocked out power to several areas of the city, including Peter's, resulting in a late rising and no hot water for his shower. Then it was a run on a jewelry store, the thieves taking advantage of the downed camera system to make their move. A nice older couple flag him down after that as he's swinging past to ask for help getting their internet back up, and although he's already running late to meet Wade on their rooftop, he can't bring himself to say no. He's pretty sure Wade will forgive him if he mentions little old ladies were involved.

He's nearly thirty minutes late to meet Wade when he finally gets moving again, and the first thing he sees as he's standing on Mollie and Esther's balcony, preparing to swing, is a crow on the balcony across the way.

"Krah," the crow says reproachfully. He swears it's glaring at him.

"Rawk!" another bird chimes in right over his head. When Peter glances up, he sees beady black eyes staring back as a crow perched on the roof above leans over to peck at the wall. Tiny flakes of dirt or brick dust sift down on his head.

"Okay, okay. I'm going," he says, feeling like an idiot. Wade talks to the birds all the time, but Wade will talk to _anything_. These days Peter's more charmed by it than not.

He swings away, making good time but wishing his phone had managed to charge before the lights went out. He's pretty sure Wade will wait for him, but that doesn't exactly make him feel better. He's pretty sure Wade will wait _long_ past any reasonable or defensible length of time, but that's all the more reason not to have made him wait in the first place. Peter knows he's already making the same mistakes that cost him every past relationship and resolves to do better this time. Wade is worth it.

Preoccupied with guilt and plotting the fastest course to their meet-up spot, Peter doesn't notice he's gained an entourage until the third crow joins. He assumes the first two are the ones he picked up at the apartment, but he can't really be sure. He tries to tell himself they're just curious, or maybe they're hungry, though he's not the one they generally associate with food.

Then another crow joins, and another, and Peter gives up lying to himself. Half a city away, Wade's sitting on a rooftop feeling sad and lonely, and now Peter has to run a full gauntlet of disapproving aunts and uncles who are _very disappointed in him_.

The thing is, they don't stop coming. He picks up two over the gelato parlor, three by the sub shop, an even dozen as he swings past the lot with all the food trucks. They keep pace with him easily, and though they never get in his way, the numbers keep rising. Thirty, fifty, one hundred--he's traveling in the center of a _cloud_ of crows, a chaotic drift of black wings against low grey clouds. If this were a video game, it'd be an amazing cinematic moment, but to be honest, he's wishing he'd worn the brown suit today. Not that he has one. He might consider making one _just for this_.

He's looking for open windows ahead with some half-thought notion that he might save some time if he goes _through_ the next few buildings when the roof ahead of him throws up a boiling column of light like a signal flare. It's arrogantly obvious in a way only a megalomaniac could love, and Peter has to bite back several curses his aunt would definitely not approve of in resignation.

He swings closer, already feeling more than a little put out, only to have his heart lurch into his throat as his honor guard keeps pace. The cloud has been growing with every crow that joins them, stretching now to nearly half a block in any direction. As he arcs up to get enough height to land on the rooftop, one of the leading crows flies right into the heart of the light and just--disappears.

Peter feels _gutted_. Smart as they are, they're just crows. They know Wade means food and safety, have maybe worked out that Peter makes him happy and are attached enough to make an obvious leap. They don't know anything about supervillains, or disintegration rays, and they've just been following him blindly while he leads them into--

" _GWARK_!" a crow squawks, appearing in midair a few yards away in a burst of light, flapping its wings hard until it catches another updraft. It looks frazzled but none the worse for wear. More importantly--

"Not another teleportation beam," Peter groans aloud as a man in a black and gold cape turns away from a strange silver device, spots the absolute _massacre_ of crows, and starts screaming like he's auditioning for a horror movie.

The next few seconds are chaos. Peter touches down gracefully, but the crow-cloud sweeps past him, unable to slow in time. Between the black tide sweeping past and the sudden flicker of displaced birds reentering the air on every side, Peter completely loses track of the man in the cape. When the crow-cloud parts, he's nowhere to be seen, and though Peter runs to check each side of the building, if the man stumbled into his own portal, it must have taken him somewhere further away than it did the crows.

He really wants to stay and do a search of the building, but off in the distance, he can already see the flash of the Iron Man suit heading his way.

He hesitates long enough to see Stark's utter bafflement and to yell: "Teleportation beam! Look for a guy in a black cape!" before he throws himself off the far side of the building. He's going to have the riot act read to him for that, but some things are more important.

Wade's still there on their rooftop when he finally arrives, forty-five minutes late and in no fit state to be taken anywhere that requires its patrons to have showered. From the way Wade perks up, sitting up slowly with a growing grin of pure delight, Wade will be more than happy to accept a tale of pure hyperbole as recompense.

"We're all very lucky you use your powers for good," Peter huffs as he stumbles to a halt, putting a hand out to keep from simply falling half over the ledge and slumping where he lies.

"I do? I mean, of course I do! Uh...which powers?" Wade asks, tilting his head to one side. Overhead the mass of crows circles like an omen of doom. Peter's pretty sure he should be interpreting their raucous caws as some kind of a shovel talk.

"That," he says, waving a hand at the sky. "Your army of crows."

"Ooh," Wade says. Peter drops his head into the crook of his elbow with a groan. "Army of darkness!"

"No, Wade."

"Fly, my pretties!"

"That was flying monkeys, Wade." He knows he shouldn't laugh. That will only encourage him.

"True...but if we harness enough of them together, they could _carry_ the monkeys."

"Start with figuring out how you're going to carry _me_ ," he says, hoping to distract. "You wouldn't believe the morning I've had."

"Yeah?" Wade asks, like he's honestly interested. Like he isn't even mad at all.

"There were old ladies," Peter promises. "And a bad guy in a cape."

Wade grins. "Sounds like my kind of story."

***

Peter's still mostly asleep when he's lightly jostled, rolling toward the knee Wade plants on the bed so he can lean over and drop a kiss on Peter's temple. After six months of living together, he's used to his Sunday morning wake-up call, but he had a rough night and a tougher fight with Mysterio the afternoon before, solo because Wade had been out of town on a job and didn't get back until late. Besides, he reserves the right to grumble if awakened before noon on the _one day_ he gets to sleep in.

"Hey, honeybunch," Wade rumbles, dragging the tip of his nose down Peter's cheek to nuzzle at the point of his jaw. "Gonna go feed the crows. Want me to bring you back a taco?"

"We're all going to die of heart attacks," Peter groans, turning his face into the pillow.

That doesn't stop Wade from smiling into his neck. "So, what, a salad instead?"

"Burger," Peter sighs, rolling his head to bare his throat for a kiss.

"Anything you want...sugar."

Wade laughs as Peter swats at him, cackling all the way to the door.

***

Call him sentimental, but Wade really likes their rooftop. It's where he asked Peter out, where they started their first date, where he asked Peter to move in with him. Where Peter said _yes_.

The crows like it too. It's central to pretty much everything, and he's always easy to find if they want to bring him an offering.

" _Hgkkkrrch_ ," the nearest one says, spitting up a fingerbone with a hacking cough. Its black tongue slides out to wrap twice around its beak, flicking off a wet piece of gristle before slurping up the offending bone once more. Crunching it between serrated teeth, it swallows the pieces back down, rolling a cheerful clicking in the back of its throat.

"I know, right?" Wade chuckles, stretching his legs out before him and crossing them at the ankle. The heel of his right boot taps a discarded helmet shaped like a fishbowl and sends it rolling. Two of the younger crows chase after it, trying to hop on top and ride it like a circus ball. Maybe he'll take it down to the nests, leave it for them to play with later. 

Watching them amuse themselves with the trinkets they brought--the helmet, a swatch of green cloth, a single startled eye--Wade beams, content with the world. He knows Spidey probably wouldn't approve, but come on. Dogs chase cats, cats chase birds; crows do...crow things. It's all part of the circle of life. Hakuna my tatas, and all that.

Truth is, even though it may have taken them a while, he's just glad to see they've warmed up to his Petey at last.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm torn between "Wade, those are NOT CROWS" and "Where Wade comes from, of course those are crows," lol...I'll leave it to you to decide which it is! ❤


End file.
